The rest of the day blurred.
Classes came and went in a stream of words that barely lodged themselves in Lyra's brain. She took notes, nodded when professors looked her way, answered when called on—automatic, precise, efficient. On the surface, she was the same as always: top student, focused, present.
Inside, it was another story.
Her thoughts kept sliding sideways, back to that moment in the lobby. Back to Alayah's hand on her waist, the heat of her palm, the smirk in her eyes.
Back to the way she'd turned to find Alayah surrounded by girls—and the way Alayah had then turned and caught her looking.
---
By late afternoon, the sun was lower in the sky, the air cooling as she crossed the campus toward the sports complex.
The fencing hall was familiar ground now, scent of resin and cleaning products, the soft squeak of shoes on the strip, the faint echo of blades clashing in other rooms.
Here, at least, there were rules. Boundaries. Clear victories.
She changed quickly in the locker room, pulling on the white jacket, glove, and mask with practiced motion.
As she tightened her boot laces, she forced herself to take a deep breath, then another, slowing her thoughts.
This is simple. En garde. Attack. Parry. Riposte. No demons. No crystals. No crushes.
When she stepped onto the strip opposite Claire, everything else fell away.
"Ready?" Claire asked, mask tucked under her arm, grin visible even with the fatigue of the day etched into her shoulders.
"Ready," Lyra said.
They saluted, masks down, and the world narrowed to footwork and steel.
The first bout was rough.
Lyra's timing was half a beat off, her parries just a fraction too late. Claire scored two quick touches, laughing breathlessly as she did.
"Where are you today?" Claire called as they reset. "You're not here."
Lyra ground her teeth. I know. She forced her stance to tighten, knees bent, weight balanced.
"Again," she said.
This time she forced herself to listen to Claire's breathing, to the faint scuff of shoes, to the sound of the blade cutting air.
She focused on the rhythm: advance, retreat, feint, lunge. She imagined a wall between her and everything else that was clawing for her attention. Alayah's smile, Alayah's voice, Alayah's eyes, all of it went on the other side.
They fought harder.
She found her timing. She read Claire's shoulder before each attack, predicted the route of the blade. Her body settled into a familiar flow, movements sharp and decisive. One touch, then another. 2–2. 3–2. 4–3.
By the last point, sweat trickled down her spine, dampening the inside of her mask. Her lungs burned, but in a good way. The kind of burn that said I'm here. I'm alive. I'm not thinking about anyone else.
She landed the final touch with a clean, elegant lunge that made Claire hiss and then laugh, ripping off her mask.
"There you are," Claire said, grinning wide. "I knew you were still in there somewhere. You okay?"
Lyra pulled off her own mask, pushing damp hair from her face. "Yes. Just tired."
Claire tilted her head, as if debating whether to pry. Then she just clapped Lyra's shoulder. "You're allowed to be human sometimes, you know. Even mysterious prodigies get overwhelmed." She winked. "Good work. Same time tomorrow?"
"Yes," Lyra said automatically.
Training continued, but the heaviness that had followed her all day loosened with each bout. Sparring with different partners, giving advice to a couple of newer members, she slipped back into a role that made sense: strong, calm, competent.
By the time practice ended, the sky outside had gone from pale gold to deepening blue. The hall emptied gradually, people waving and calling out goodbyes as they left. Lyra headed to the showers, peeling off her gear, muscles pleasantly sore.
The water was hot again, steam curling around her like mist.
She stood under it longer than necessary, letting her mind go blank, listening only to the steady rush as it beat down on her shoulders. The crush crystal hovered quietly, dimmed but still present.
She dressed in fresh clothes: dark leggings, oversized hoodie, hair twisted into a quick loose knot. She slung her bag over her shoulder and stepped out into the corridor, feeling lighter, more centered.
That lasted exactly ten seconds.
As she cut through the side hallway that led back toward the main entrance, voices reached her—low, amused, flirting. Familiar.
She turned the corner and saw her.
Alayah stood near one of the side doors, leaning casually against the wall, one foot propped behind her. Her posture was relaxed, easy, that lazy confidence that made people gravitate toward her whether they wanted to or not.
In front of her stood a girl—tall, pretty, with curly hair and a shy-loud laugh. The kind of girl who clearly knew she was standing in front of trouble and very much liked it.
Alayah was in full seduction mode. It was obvious in the way she tilted her head, the way she kept just the right amount of distance and closeness, the way she let her gaze wander down and back up, slow enough to be suggestive without tipping into crude.
Her smile was wickedly soft, all teeth and promise.
Lyra's stomach clenched. The crush crystal at her chest flickered, and she immediately forced her magic down, dampening it as much as she could. She did not have time for this.
Just walk past. She's working. You're working. You don't care. You shouldn't care.
She fixed her eyes on the opposite wall and quickened her pace, aiming to cross the hallway before either of them could notice her. She could pretend she hadn't seen anything. She could go home, sleep, forget the way her chest hurt.
She almost made it.
"Lyra," Alayah's voice cut through the air, smooth and unmistakable.
Lyra should have kept walking. She knew that. Instead, her steps faltered, and in that instant Alayah moved.
One second Lyra was passing. The next, she was pinned.
Alayah's hand shot out, catching her wrist and spinning her toward the wall with practiced, unhurried strength.
Her back hit the cool plaster gently, not painfully, but firmly enough that there was no mistaking the control in the gesture.
Alayah stepped in close, one arm braced beside Lyra's head, the other still loosely around her wrist.
"Hi," Alayah said, voice low and maddeningly amused.
Lyra's breath snagged. They were close enough that she could see the faint stubble on Alayah's jaw, the small scar near her eyebrow, the glint of something dangerous and delighted in her eyes.
The other girl who had been the subject of Alayah's attention just seconds ago had taken a step back, looking surprised and a little annoyed, but not quite brave enough to intervene.
Lyra's annoyance flared, quicker than her embarrassment.
"What the actual fuck are you doing?" she hissed under her breath, eyes narrowing.
Alayah's smirk deepened. "Interrupting," she said lightly. "Clearly."
"Let me go."
"In a minute."
Lyra's heart thudded against her ribs. She hated how aware she was of every point of contact: Alayah's fingers warm on her wrist, the solid line of her body close enough that Lyra could feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle smell of something smoky and familiar.
"Do you ambush everyone like this," Lyra continued, voice tight, "or only people you're supposed to be competing against?"
Alayah tilted her head, pretending to think. "Only the interesting ones."
Lyra opened her mouth to snap back, but Alayah's gaze dipped, just for a moment, to Lyra's chest. Not in a leering way—focused, sharp.
And Alayah smiled in a way that made Lyra's stomach twist.
"You have a crush on a human?" she said softly, the words a blade wrapped in silk.
Lyra froze.